


Words Were Never So Useful

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No words or language,<br/>It doesn't deserve such treatment,<br/>And all my stumbling phrases,<br/>Never amounted to anything worth this feeling,<br/>All this heaven,<br/>Never could describe such a feeling as I'm having.<br/>Words were never so useful<br/>So I was screaming out a language<br/>That I never knew existed before.<br/>- Florence + the Machine "All This and Heaven, too."</p><p>Dean’s voice, the litany of curses and please and Sam he offered up into the air echoed around the cars and Sam knew Bobby might hear them. And he didn’t care. He didn’t care and he didn’t care and he hoped they all heard. Lucifer and Michael and god and all the angels and demons. He hoped they heard and realized what they were up against.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Were Never So Useful

**Author's Note:**

> Sam was careful to make some noise as he walked over the old Ford Dean sat in, one leg still outside the car, booted toe tapping to some music only he could hear. Like all the cars on Bobby’s lot, the Ford had seen better days. Doorless, trunk crushed, body rusted, and resting on four flat tires while weeds twined around her bumpers. 

Sam scuffed a foot deliberately, a graveled warning, clinked the two beer bottles he held. Much as Sam liked being able to sneak up on Dean, Dean didn’t like being surprised on the best of days, one of which this most assuredly was not. 

As a matter of fact, it was the actual End of Days, and Sam felt personally offended by the cloudless blue skies and the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, swaying the long grass off in the distance. Didn’t they know? Couldn’t the earth tell it hovered on the edge of destruction? Around them, devastation, fire and floods, but at this moment in a scrap yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota nature was writing a love letter to a Spring that might never really come. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said quietly as he got closer.

Dean’s head whipped around, even as his body stayed slouched against the red leather seats, right arm stretched out on the steering wheel.

Sam froze. Sunlight poured through the missing windshield, illuminating the golden hair on Dean’s forearms, picking out the tendons and muscles as Dean rhythmically squeezed the thin steering wheel, and making the faded blue of his denim jacket glow. And though Dean’s face was shadowed, his green eyes glittered in the dim light and Sam could see his expression. It was one Sam was getting used to seeing directed at him – hard, assessing. But still, Sam couldn’t help but notice, beautiful. Dean was always beautiful. Sam had wondered more often than once if the angels had fought over Dean, both Lucifer and Michael wanting that beauty, that strength, that heart, for themselves. Lucifer had been the most beautiful angel in existence. To lose Dean as a vessel, to take Sam, had to be a blow to him.

The silence stretched as Sam watched Dean, like he had watched him most days of his life, as he stared at Sam. Though Dean’s face was usually a poem, a moving work of art on which Sam could read all the things unsaid, today it was marble, Dean unknowable.

“Don’t wear that shirt.” Dean’s rough voice broke the silence.

Puzzled, Sam looked down to see if he something had happened to the white dress shirt he’d put on this morning when he and Bobby went to try and feeb information out of some government office. He’d taken off the jacket and tie, but hadn’t wanted to take the time to change fully before looking for Dean. He pulled this shirt away from his body and looked a question at Dean.

Dean sighed and looked away. “Just not…white. Okay? I don’t like you in white.”

Mouth a desert, Sam quickly nodded agreement. _Fuck, how could have been so stupid_. Dean had told him Lucifer had been wearing a white suit in the future Zachariah had shown him. He’d said like it was the strangest part of the whole thing, like it was the one thing he couldn’t get his head around. “White dress shoes, Sammy. And white dress socks.” He’d tried for a laugh, punching Sam on the shoulder. “That’s how I knew you really were the devil.” The laugh hadn’t sounded real to either one of them. 

“Oh, god. Sorry. I didn’t…” Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, Sam had wedged the beer bottles between his thighs, grabbed the collar of the shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth move. He shivered as the breeze blew across him, pebbling his nipples and raising goose bumps despite the sun. Afraid to meet Dean’s eyes, he looked down where the shirt hung limply from his hand and dragged in the dirt.

He felt ridiculous standing there, half-naked in the sea of decaying cars, under Dean’s scrutiny. Whatever he had come out to say was long gone from his brain. Though he didn’t look up from the ground, he could feel Dean’s eyes on him. He always knew when Dean was looking at him. The red leather seats creaked and rusted metal squealed as Dean slid his other leg out and pulled himself up and out of the car. Sam saw Dean’s boots, felt his shadow on him, but still didn’t look up. A breath hissed out of him as Dean reached out and slowly slid the wet, cool beer bottles out from between his thighs.

“Thanks,” Dean said, whether for the shirt or the beer, Sam couldn’t tell.

He stopped his contemplation of the fascinating ground and looked up at Dean. Four inches taller than Dean and he still felt like he had to look up to really see him. He watched Dean turned back to the car and use a split in the metal roof to lever off the bottle caps. He slid the caps into the front pockets of his jeans, habit from when they were boys running around barefoot in the dirt and collecting treasures from the endless corridors of car corpses.

Dean held out one of the bottles to Sam. They touched them together before drinking. Sam smiled as Dean made eye contact over the bottle with his first sip. Dean had heard as a kid that it was bad luck not to make eye contact during a toast, and now it was such an ingrained muscle memory that Sam sometimes found himself trying to catch the bartender’s eye on those rare times he drank alone.

Sam shivered again, as the sun slipped behind a cloud and the breeze picked up.

Dean cleared his throat. Took a long draw on his beer. “Not that you have _anything_ to be ashamed of, but it’s a little cold to be walking around naked. Besides, what would the neighbors think?” With a lift of one eyebrow, Dean gestured at the dogs sleeping the dirt a few feet away.

Before Sam could suggest that they go inside, remembering that he had come out to tell Dean Bobby was grilling up some hamburgers, Dean placed his beer on the roof of the Ford and slipped out of his denim jacket. He held it out to Sam. “Here.”

“Dean, I don’t –“

Dean just jerked his chin in a hurry-up nod, “Yeah, I know, you’re a big manly-man. Just put it on. At least it will cover your arms.” He took the beer out of Sam’s hand and shoved the jacket at him again.

Sam exhaled sharply from his nose. The scene was so familiar. So many memories of Dean telling him to put on a jacket or another shirt, worried about his too-thin little brother, the threadbare hand-me downs, and the cold nights sleeping in the Impala. Sam shook his head with a grin as he put on the jacket. 

Dean smiled, and Sam could tell he was remembering, too. “Always did have to tell you to put on your coat.” He leaned back against the car, on foot up on the door frame, and rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt.

“You’re just bossy,” Sam shot back, shrugging his shoulders and yanking at the sleeves in an attempt to get the too-small jacket to sit right. "And short." With one final tug at the collar, Sam stopped messing with it and reached out to get his beer back. The look in Dean’s eyes slowed his hand and stopped him just as he gripped the bottle. For a few breaths, they both held the bottle. Something Sam had thought long gone shimmered between them. The eye contact they held this time was not the camaraderie of a shared toast.

Sam drew the bottle to him slowly, tilting the bottle and his head up more than strictly necessary, just to find some relief from the heat in Dean’s eyes. He realized what he must look like right now, dress pants belted low over his hips, the denim straining over his arms, framing rather than covering his chest, tattoo peeking out from the edge of the jacket. 

It was always like this between them. Every gesture, every word, held so much more within it. So much history, and love, and pain, and memories of other times and other places. It was no wonder they spoke so little when so much could be conveyed by the choice of bed or the toss of a set of car keys.

“Sam,” Dean said. He leaned up from the car, stepping closer into Sam’s personal space. Now Sam did have to look down to meet his brother’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

Dean ran a rough hand over his mouth and chin, a decades old tell that meant he was trying to stop from saying something. He looked away.

“What, Dean?” Sam dangled the beer bottle from his fingers, caught between wanting to move closer and to run back to the house and Bobby and the smell of dinner.

“You just…” He pointed to the white shirt forgotten on the ground, dropped when Sam put on the jacket. It’s not like he was going to wear again. Ever. “When I saw Lucifer. In the future…”

“In me,” Sam said with no inflection.

Dean nodded sharply. He moved in closer to Sam, his hand reaching out to slide the jacket out of the way and lightly trace the tattoo on Sam’s chest. “He was, you were, are, beautiful.” He held onto the jacket and looked right up at Sam. “That’s what I remember thinking, beyond the bone-chilling terror of course. Thinking ‘Sam is beautiful.’ And I…I just wanted to say that to you. To tell you now. Before…”

Sam huffed a laugh and Dean’s eyes widened, obviously not expecting that reaction. He started to pull away and Sam grabbed his wrist, held him there against his body. “Just now, when I came up and saw you sitting there, I thought ‘Lucifer’s getting the raw end of this deal.’ If I was looking for a vessel for the most beautiful of God’s angels, it would have been you. I would have picked you.”

Dean’s grin tried for cocky but faltered. He titled his head. “Well, look at us.” He rubbed the soft denim between this fingers and thumb as he finished his beer. “A regular mutual admiration society.” Without letting go of the jacket, he reached for the hand Sam still held his beer in and guided it up to Sam’s mouth, eyes locked on Sam’s lips. Sam obediently swallowed the last dregs, tongue flicking out to wipe the foam from his mouth. Dean let both bottle slip from his fingers and thud to the ground.

He reached up to fist both hands into the sides of the jacket, stepping right up against Sam.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, he voice cracking on the name. It wasn’t the first time Dean had looked at him like that, another old memory, but it had been a long, long time. Only once since Stanford. One night, just before the hellhounds had come.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean sighed, sliding his hand up Sam to hook behind his neck and pull Sam down. “Not gonna let him get you.” 

Desperately Sam sealed his mouth to Dean’s. He reached for Dean’s hips to pull him in tight but the jacket pulled across his back, stopping his arms from moving more than a few inches.

Dean laughed at the frustrated noises his brother made, sliding his hands under the jacket, running his nails up and down Sam’s sides. Not touching anywhere but lips and fingertips. All the blood was rushing to Sam’s dick and his heart pounded in his ears. He had to touch, had to get up against Dean now. Against his better judgment, he pulled away from Dean’s sinful mouth, Dean’s nails leaving red trails around his body as he moved. Sam tore the jacket from his body and threw it to the ground. Then he grabbed Dean’s shoulders and shoved him the two feet to the side of the Ford.

A groan ripped from Dean’s throat as his ass hit the hood of the car and Sam’s thigh slammed between his. He ground down on Sam’s thigh as Sam wrapped his arms tightly around him. One hand around Dean’s back pulling him tightly against Sam’s body, one palming the back of his skull, keeping Dean’s mouth just where Sam wanted it. Dean’s arms were looped around Sam’s neck, holding tight as he rode Sam’s thigh.

Sam grabbed Dean’s head and wrenched his mouth off, both gasping for air. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean breathed, and he darted in to attack Sam’s neck as Sam fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, finally just ripping the shirt apart in frustration. Buttons pinged off the metal of the car and puffed into the dust. Dean laughed, “That’s going to be easy to explain to Bobby.”

Sam ignored him, easily lifting Dean up to sit on the hood. Dean looked dazed as Sam yanked his legs apart and, gripping behind the knees, pulled them tight against each other, fucking up into Dean with hard desperate strokes.

Dean scrabbled for purchase on Sam’s shoulders, adding new lines of scratches to Sam’s skin. “Holy fuck, Sam.” 

Sam moaned as Dean leaned down, mouth sucking and biting at every inch Sam he could reach, shoulders, neck collarbone, earlobes. Dean sucked a purple mark into Sam’s neck as Sam rutted against him, hips driving relentlessly, any tenderness or gentleness forgotten in his desperate need for the comfort of his brother’s body. 

Dean fell back against the onslaught, dropping to the hood and catching himself on his elbows. He straight-armed Sam, hand flat against his heaving chest. Dean panted as he tried to catch his breath, hips pumping up mindlessly against the iron rod of Sam’s cock as he fought for control.

“Sam, stop. Stop, Sammy. I’m gonna…it’s gonna be all over, man.” He drew in a shaky breath, eyes hot as his fingers traced the scratches and bruises on Sam’s flawless chest. “I gotta feel you. Please.” He fumbled at Sam’s belt buckle.

Sam moaned, chest heaving, as he pulled Dean’s hand up, taking two of fingers into his mouth. He gripped Dean’s wrist tight, holding him here as he sucked and bit and twined his tongue between the fingers as he ripped his belt open one-handed. 

Dean panted, “So not fucking helping.” 

Sam flicked the button on Dean’s jean open and yanked down the zipper. He let go of Dean’s hand and ripped the jeans down over Dean’s hips. Dean yelp as the cold metal hit his bare skin was swallowed by Sam’s mouth as he leaned down over his brother, wrapping Dean’s spit-slick hand around both their cocks and squeezing.

“Oh god. Dean. God,” Sam yelled into Dean’s mouth at the feel of Dean’s velvet hardness against his dick. The catch, drag, and slip was so so good. He couldn’t believe they had lived so long without this. Without this way to say with bodies all the things that words twisted and confused. When Dean kissed him, he was saying _I love you_ and _I’ll always take care of you_ and _you’re my home_. When Sam dropped to his knees in the dust of a graveyard of iron and steel under the blue blue sky and the gaze of any watching angels and demons he was saying _I love you_ and _I’m sorry_ and _I’ll never leave_.

Dean’s cock was hot and alive and perfect in Sam’s mouth. The pull of his hands in Sam’s hair shot sparks up and down Sam’s skin. He pulled Dean’s hips up harder, trying to take him deeper. Dean’s voice, the litany of curses and _please_ and _Sam_ he offered up into the air echoed around the cars and Sam knew Bobby might hear them. And he didn’t care. He didn’t care and he didn’t care and he hoped they all heard. Lucifer and Michael and god and all the angels and demons. He hoped they heard and realized what they were up against.

Dean’s hands tightened in Sam’s hair and held Sam’s head still as he pumped up and up into his mouth. Sam’s fingers dug bruises into Dean’s hips as Dean came down his throat. Sam swallowed as much as he could, wanting Dean in him, with him. When Dean’s body stilled and his hands tugged weakly at Sam,trying to pull him off, Sam surged up, pulling Dean against him with an arm around his back. He pushed desperately into Dean’s skin, rubbing against his body, his mouth hard against the curve where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. He felt Dean’s hand on his hip pulling him tight and faster into his body. The other hand smoothed a calm counterpoint through his hair and down his neck. Sam didn’t even realize he was crying until the sounds Dean was making coalesced into a stream of ‘shh, Sammy, shhh. It’s okay, I got you. I got you.’ Sam came against Dean with a huge shudder, body stuttering and pulsing for timeless minutes. Dean’s voice never stopped.

The sun started to drop as they held each other tight on the hood of the old car, in the closest place to home they had known outside of the Impala. Bobby’s voice called to them from the far side of the yard. “Dinner’s getting cold, ya idjits. Get your sorry asses in here or I’m feeding it all to the dogs.” 

Dean smiled as they pulled apart, grabbing Sam back in for one deep kiss. He slid off the car with a little grimace and pulled his jeans up. Sam reached down and picked up the white dress shirt. Shaking off the worst of the dirt, he cleaned himself enough to pull up his pants, then handed it to Dean. Dean took it gingerly with two fingers. “Thanks?” Sam laughed at the face he made as he cleaned off his stomach. He smiled brightly as he held it out to Sam. “It’s your shirt, bitch.”

Sam grabbed the shirt from him. “Jerk.” He wadded the shirt up and threw it in the back seat of the Ford. “I really don’t want to see that shirt again.”

Dean looked up from where he was searching halfheartedly for his lost buttons. “Good plan. But I like this one. And looks like you have some sewing to do.”

“Bite me.”

Dean’s eyes softened and he stood up and sauntered over to Sam. Dean was the only one Sam had ever seen who could actually saunter and not look ridiculous. Sam smiled as Dean ran his hand gently over the scratches on Sam’s body. He shivered as Dean kissed him with all the softness that was missing from before. “Cmon, let’s go eat. I’ll distract Bobby so you can sneak by. You look like you just got fucked.”

Sam laughed a full out, dimples and all, laugh. “So do you,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but people expect that from me.”

“Whatever.” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and walked back to the house. He knew he’d let go as soon as the house was in view, but for now, this was good. It didn’t matter what they had been through, what heaven and hell’s plans were for them. This was all Sam needed of heaven - the feel of his brother all around him. It was all that was good and pure in the world. Dean, the man who had raised him, and loved him, and saved him his entire life -who would save him again Sam was sure. And if not, if Sam had to face eternity in the pit to save him, it was a price he would pay willingly.


End file.
